Blue Voyage

by Diana Renn

  “Okay,” Sage said, following my lead.

  I looked at the landscape for any sign of life. In all directions, it still looked as if we were on another planet. The red rocks and fairy chimneys gave way to pink and then white terrain, folds of smooth hills and valleys like I’d seen on the Voyager Balloons brochure. Occasional scrubby bushes and parched-looking trees poked up here and there.

  Then I saw a gray road, snaking through the hills in the distance. A steady stream of cars, trucks, and buses drove along it. Traffic had never been such a welcome sight.

  “Look! We can get help!” I exclaimed, almost crying with relief.

  In that moment, a loud rumbling made us both stop in our tracks. We turned to look behind us, as the cave we’d just escaped from—the cave containing Lazar and Vasil—crumbled.

  All was quiet then, except for the startled cry of a bird that flapped away and left a cloud of red dust in its wake. Then there was only an eerie quiet. Not one cry for help, not one groan.

  “I think it killed them,” Sage said at last.

  “We don’t know for sure,” I said. “Come on. We have to keep going.”

  We crawled to the opposite end of the mesa, then sat and slid down a steep slope. When we hit the ground, coughing and gasping from the dust that had risen up, we started running in the direction of the road, with every bit of energy we had left. But suddenly my legs crumpled beneath me. Sage flopped down by my side.

  “Guess the road’s a little farther than I thought,” I said. My own voice sounded far away.

  Sage looked at me closely. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I don’t feel so good.” Everything seemed gray, as if it were going to rain any minute, even though the sun seared my skin.

  Sage dragged me under an overhanging rock that offered up some shade, as my legs seemed to have completely stopped working. “I’m going all the way to the road to find help. You rest.”

  “Don’t leave me,” I murmured, my eyelids fluttering.

  “I have to. Stay there,” she commanded. “And don’t fall asleep. You might have heatstroke.” She smoothed back my hair. “I’ll be back as fast as I can, with help. I promise. You just saved our lives back there. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

  She might have said more, but my ears began to buzz and ring. Then she was gone, and the landscape around me erased itself. And then there was nothing, nothing at all.

  43

  I was amazed to discover I hadn’t died.

  When I came to, I was in a dim room that smelled of disinfectant. I panicked, groping around me, expecting to feel dirt under my hands, expecting to be back in a dark, dank cave.

  Then I heard beeping sounds. From machines. Machines that I was hooked up to. I gasped. Blinked. Looked around. I was in a hospital!

  There was a woman leaning over me. Mom! I blinked again. Two figures merged and separated, blurring at the edges. Dad? Was Dad here, too? I suddenly wished that both my parents were with me, together. I forced my eyes open with all my strength. The two figures separated, and one of them came into full focus. Not my dad. It was Inspector Lale.

  “You’re awake!” Mom exclaimed. “Oh, thank goodness!” She leaned over and hugged me. “My God,” she murmured into my hair. “Never, never, never, never do I want us to go through something like that again.”

  “Me neither,” I said, hugging her back. Hard. “Where—where am I?”

  “You’re in a hospital, in the town of Ürgüp, Cappadocia,” said Inspector Lale, since Mom seemed too overwhelmed to speak. She pulled away at last to sit in a chair by my bed, and held my hand in hers, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’ve been treated for severe dehydration and heatstroke,” continued Inspector Lale, then went on to explain what had happened.

  After Sage left me, she ran until she reached a main road. Two mountain bikers passed by, and she flagged them down and told them there was an emergency. The cyclists, a Turkish couple on their honeymoon, said they’d heard gunfire, and had already called the police. Terrified, they were cutting their ride short and getting out of Zelve. But they detoured and followed Sage back to where she’d left me. Sage was frantic because I’d passed out. The mountain bikers called for an ambulance.

  “Meanwhile, Sage used their phone to call your aunt’s hotel,” Inspector Lale went on. “We’d already assumed you’d been abducted by Ron and Judy Clarkson. Nazif told us everything as soon as it was clear you’d gone missing, when your mother couldn’t find you in your room.”

  “He did? He—Nazif told you? About the urn and everything?”

  “Everything,” said Inspector Lale, smiling at me. “It’s a good thing you confided in him. He was able to give us a great many leads, including turning us on to the Clarksons, who had disappeared as well. He told us he had seen them at a Lycian Society meeting that took place in your aunt’s hotel, and that they were the only Americans there. When he saw them watching the beginning of the puppet show, he realized that he knew who they were and he tried to get you a note. He asked one of the caterers to deliver it, to warn you about them. But I’m guessing you didn’t get it.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “I wish I had. I wouldn’t have gone looking for the urn, then. I would have come right to you.”

  “I wish you had come right to me,” she said, a flash of disapproval crossing her face. “But what’s done is done. And you’ve been extremely brave under the circumstances. And, it turns out, extremely helpful.”

  “Where’s Sage? Is she okay?”

  “Sage is also being treated for dehydration, in the room next door. She’s doing just fine.”

  I could hear voices murmuring from the other side of the thin wall that separated our rooms.

  “Who’s she talking to?” I wondered aloud.

  “One of my sergeants from the Istanbul police, and some officials from the local precinct,” said the inspector. “I’ve finally persuaded them to take this case seriously and follow all of my commands.”

  “Are they going to put her in jail?” I asked, suddenly fearful for her. It didn’t seem fair. Yes, she’d worked for a smuggling ring, and overstayed her visa, and lied to just about everyone. But she’d also started telling the truth. And she’d gotten pulled into this mess by circumstances beyond her control, and gotten in over her head, unable to navigate the murky waters of real, human relationships as easily as she could swim.

  “That remains to be seen,” Inspector Lale admitted. “It is possible some leniency will be granted in return for her cooperation. She seems quite willing to talk to us and help us prosecute Lazar and other members of his ring. And she should be especially helpful in identifying some of the objects they’re removing in the raid.”

  “The raid?”

  “Sage was able to tell us where the entrance to the cave city was, and Zelve national park rangers helped police find it,” she said. “They’ve found a lot of objects already. So even though the urn’s been lost, there’s a great deal of recovery.”

  “And Lazar and Vasil? They’re dead, right?” I asked. “We saw them run into a cave and then it collapsed. They’d been shooting at us. Did that bring the cave down?”

  “We found them both alive, in the rubble, though they were pretty banged up,” said Inspector Lale. “Vasil was conscious, with broken bones. Lazar was pinned under rock, unconscious. They’re in custody now. It’s possible the bullets they fired and the other damage they caused to the exterior walls and the scaffolding accelerated the cave-in. But that cave was badly damaged from an earthquake last year. Restoration efforts on it had only just begun. You girls are extremely lucky it didn’t collapse when you were inside.”

  I struggled to sit up, but Mom put her hand on my forehead, smoothing my hair and urging me to settle back down. I melted into the pillows. “You should rest,” she murmured. “We’ll talk later. It’s all okay.”

&
nbsp; Relief washed over me. I was safe. And we’d succeeded—we’d shut down the whole operation! Uncle Berk’s death would be looked into again in light of all these new connections. It seemed like a happy ending.

  Except. The Clarksons had made off with the urn. The Karun Treasure would remain incomplete, probably forever.

  But that wasn’t my problem. Or was it? Nazif’s words from the other day came rushing back to me: This smuggling situation, this is all of our problem. Lazar is stealing our history.

  I’d been a thief, but I wasn’t one now. I’d forgiven myself for my shoplifting, even if I couldn’t explain it, or excuse it. I had been wrong to steal. But if I could do one big thing to make up for all the dumb things I’d done, and all the worry I’d caused other people—especially my mom and dad—I could do it now, by not giving up on the last part of this problem.

  “The Clarksons,” I said. “They got the urn. And I think they have other stuff Lazar got for them, too. You have to stop them from leaving the country!”

  “I spoke with the Clarksons in Istanbul,” said Inspector Lale. “They seemed to be victims of the Anilar scam, the unregistered boat that was hijacked by criminals. I took down their contact information at that time, but they’re not where they said they’d be staying. There is obviously more to their story than innocent tourists being scammed on a cruise. They were directly involved in your abduction. So believe me, I’m very interested in speaking further with them, if only I could find them.”

  “I bet they’re still here in Cappadocia,” I said. “And they’re the ones who poisoned me and took the urn right out of my hands just before I passed out.”

  Inspector Lale gave me a long look. “I can take them in for questioning, if we find them, on the grounds of your accusation alone. And it will help that Nazif can testify he saw them at the Lycian Society meeting back in April. But you must be very, very certain about what you’re saying.”

  “Of course she’s sure,” Mom snapped. “My daughter wouldn’t make up something like that.”

  “I’m sure Judy gave me a drink of laced juice. And I saw Ron’s shoes at the party, right before I passed out,” I said. “They’re the same brand my dad wears. I’m positive he took the urn from me. Also, Lazar said they were on the private plane with Sage and me, while we were drugged. They came out here to pick up the rest of their order. Lazar’s like their personal shopper.”

  “I’ll put out an alert at the local airports right away, in case they try to leave,” said Inspector Lale, taking out her phone.

  “Voyager Balloons,” I said. “Call them, too. The Clarksons booked a balloon ride with them. It’s supposed to launch tomorrow at six in the morning.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll have the leisure time for a balloon excursion if they’re holding on to hot goods and they know Lazar was taken down in a raid,” said Mom.

  “Every lead is worth following,” said Inspector Lale. “Even if they don’t take the balloon ride, they may have given the company some contact information. I’ll give them a call.” Already she was dialing numbers as she left the room, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

  “Now you can relax,” Mom said, pushing me gently back into the pillows. “It’s all out of your hands, officially.”

  I managed a smile. But I knew there would be no relaxing for me unless the Clarksons were captured and the urn was recovered once and for all.

  “Do you want anything?” Mom asked. “Or do you want to try to sleep some more?”

  I swallowed hard. I knew what I wanted. A connection to both my parents right now, even if we couldn’t all be together. “A phone,” I said softly. “I want to call Dad.”

  44

  In the late afternoon, when Sage and I had recovered enough to be discharged, Inspector Lale borrowed a car from the local police precinct and drove us, and Mom, to a hotel run by Aunt Jackie and Uncle Berk’s friends in a nearby village. She told us that she’d reached Voyager Balloons, who’d said the Clarksons had called to cancel their ride.

  “They’re on the run, then,” I said.

  “They won’t get far,” said Inspector Lale. “They can’t cross a border without getting apprehended.”

  “I don’t know.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Clarksons might have some devious way to get out of the country with all their illicit goods. “Anyway, even if you catch them, they might have shipped the urn somewhere, or hidden it again. And without that urn, I feel like we failed Uncle Berk.” I leaned my head against the window, in the backseat I shared with Sage.

  “We didn’t,” said Inspector Lale. “There’ll be an investigation into his death. This is exactly what your aunt wanted to happen. Lazar and Vasil are going to be in prison for a long, long time.”

  “But the urn is gone for good,” I said.

  Inspector Lale shook her head. “Not necessarily. We have enough on the Clarksons to get them extradited, if we can locate them. But what’s most important, Zan, is that your Uncle Berk would be so glad that you did everything you could to prevent this crime.” She hesitated, then continued. “You see, your uncle was deeply concerned about our country’s vanishing history. We were working together, these past two years.”

  Mom frowned. “I thought you worked together a decade ago.”

  “We did, at the museum,” said Inspector Lale. “But more recently, he approached me asking if I had any job leads. I had just started working for the national police, and I told him I had an unusual one. It didn’t pay, and it involved some secrecy, but it was for a very good cause. When we worked together at the archaeology museum, we were secretly writing a catalogue of items in the storage facility, which were at great risk of theft because no one really knew about everything that was there. I asked him if he would continue this work, going into smaller museums and mosques to catalogue their storage collections, too. So many of these places don’t even know what they have, and they have more than they can ever display. This information would help me to identify stolen or confiscated items that might surface, and it would help to make these smaller institutions less vulnerable to theft.”

  I nodded, recalling the spreadsheets I’d seen on my uncle’s office computer, and the stack of printouts he’d had in an envelope with Inspector Lale’s name on it. Those documents must have been part of their project. Uncle Berk and the inspector had been like underground warriors, trying to preserve Turkey’s heritage from within.

  “I thought everything in museums had to be catalogued anyway,” said Sage.

  “It should be,” said Inspector Lale. “But that’s not always the case. Museums and mosques often have more art objects than they can handle. Smuggled artifacts that get confiscated are sometimes given to museums by the police stations, which simply have no room to store them. Or items are given to them when more treasures are unearthed by construction work in cities, or even by earthquakes. It’s a massive project to document these hidden treasures, but we made it our mission. And we told no one, outside a trusted circle of professionals and police officers, thinking that discretion would be to our advantage. Berk’s data can prove that certain stolen items came from particular storerooms.”

  “But Berk went to those secret Lycian Society meetings,” said Mom, scratching her head. “And he was given the urn at that meeting. He’d been hiding it in his office, passing it off as a fake. Doesn’t that make him a thief, too? Or at least an accomplice to crime?”

  “I understand your concern,” said Inspector Lale. “But I assure you, the urn was housed in his office temporarily, with my full knowledge. He kept it there, with the replicas he used for his lectures, in case anyone broke into his office and went looking around. All the while he was working undercover for me, and we were creating a plan to get the urn into the hands of museum officials. This was going on just days before he died.”

  “So he was working for the good guys all along?” I asked,
relief flooding over me.

  “He was one of the good guys,” Inspector Lale said. “I authorized him to work for Lazar as my undercover agent. He did small jobs for Lazar first, to gain his trust. He certified some smaller antiquities as replicas to facilitate their transport, and worked his way up in Lazar’s business as a freelancer in that way. Ultimately, the goal was for him to expose Lazar’s operation, as well as the Lycian Society’s secret group of illicit collectors. But when Berk saw the seahorse urn, he immediately knew it was a long-lost item from the Karun Treasure that scholars have been seeking. It was a groundbreaking discovery for archaeology scholarship, and for Turkey. He couldn’t let this precious item slip away into the black market, and suddenly the mission was not so easy. We knew we had to expose Lazar with the Karun Treasure urn.”

  “But where did Lazar get the urn in the first place?” asked Mom.

  “From a villager who was one of the original looters of the tomb,” said the inspector. “The villager had kept this one item, believing it was too beautiful to part with, and that he was meant to care for it. And so it remained in his family for decades, in his little village. But so many bad things happened to this man over the years. All his children died. His wife died. His businesses failed.”

  “The Karun Treasure curse,” I whispered. “Maybe it’s true.”

  “Maybe. So this man, who by then was quite old, finally decided to sell it,” Inspector Lale continued. “And he knew Lazar and his group because they frequented his village, coming by and shaking artifacts out of villagers’ homes, persuading them to sell. The irony is that the day after giving the urn to Lazar, the old man died. So he cannot even be a witness in a trial.”

  “Or maybe it’s not ironic,” Sage said darkly. “Maybe Lazar needed to off him to keep the history of the artifact obscured.”

  “That was my fear,” Inspector Lale admitted. “I was concerned about that, and I wanted Berk to stop his work. It was getting too dangerous; we risked angering Lazar. But Berk insisted on seeing it through.” She sighed, then continued. “On the appointed day, Berk gave Lazar the documents. And a fake urn that we had specially made. We had undercover officers ready to arrest Lazar. But we needed the real artifact to remain hidden.”